No Expression
by eriridan
Summary: You and the little guy were bros 'til the end, or at least to some extend. However, you didn't know you'd be planning a funeral for him so early on.


**A/N:** One-shot, Sadstuck Strider fanfic. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it! uwu

**No Expression**

You never thought you'd be planning a funeral for the kid. After all, he was always so full of energy, holding a light that you never possessed. The lil guy was like you in so many ways—he was your brother, and god _damn_ do you feel like complete shit. Had you not told him you loved him enough? Had you not helped him enough? Had you not been there enough for him, no matter your wary ways of showing emotion?

You didn't know it would've ended like this.

The day it happened was seemingly normal: get up, get dressed, make breakfast and get your ass to work and make sure Dave went to school. Hours later, you called and left a voicemail, saying you had to work overtime. Hell, it couldn't have been helped—no other person was able to come in, and since you were already there, you really couldn't avoid it. Besides, a little more cash never harmed anything.

When you were able to go home, you did so in a hurry—bed was the only thing on your mind. You were tired as shit, and feeling just as that, too. Your eyes felt like fire against the tiniest bit of light, not to mention a few times you were in danger of falling asleep at the wheel as well as almost every stop light.

You had gotten out of the car, letting out a sigh of relief in thought of sleep. Surely, by the time (two-thirty a-fucking-m), Dave was asleep, dreaming of whatever the lil man dreamt of. It seemed like ages before you were finally digging the key out of your pocket, inserting it in the knob and finally twisting it.

However, you knew the scent of blood better than you did the scent of your shampoo; and it made you stop, made your brows narrow in concentration. Had Dave cut himself while opening something? _No._ The scent of blood was too strong for that, and you couldn't help the small shiver that ran down your spine, couldn't help the way your chest tightened as you took a step inside the apartment, your gloved hand almost incapable of shutting the door behind you.

Another step, then a few more—a sniff or two at the air and you weren't sure if you wanted to continue your investigation. You swallowed, letting out a breath you hadn't been aware you were holding; a shaky breath, a twitch of your eye. Seemingly, your body is frozen on the stop, your brain numbing off the commands you made. _Move. Move, you fuckass. Left. Right. No, fucking __**move**__ already—_

You hadn't been aware you could move so fast—despite your flash-steps, you've never moved so quickly before. Your eyes widened considerably behind your shades, your legs feeling like lead as they moved, leading you to Dave's room. Only, it seemed you couldn't get there fast enough, couldn't bare to see the sight which you were so sure you were able to see.

_Move, move, movemovemove—_

Almost desperately, you slammed Dave's door open, head looking left to right a bit too quickly. Your eyes narrowed and you turned on the light, lips pursing into a thin, white line as you scan the room. _Where the fuck are you?_

Here, you inhale again, cringing all too noticeably when the thick smell of blood meets your nostrils. You turn, giving the door frame a thudding punch as you force yourself down the hall, where you fucking hope you don't find the thing you're beginning to be the most frightened up. _Dave dead. Bloodied Dave, not from a strife but by his own accord. Dave. Dead. Dead. Dave._

Momentarily, you twitch, letting out a small, almost inaudible choking noise. _Fuck._ You're losing your cool, and it's so unlike you that all you want to do is bloody your knuckles. However, you know that's not an option right now. You've gotta walk on, find the source of the smell.

And it doesn't take you long to do so.

Your head turns a bit, eyes blinking. Your breath becomes shallow as your skin becomes ice, and suddenly you're sure it's a blizzard as you reach a hand to the doorknob of the bathroom, another shiver coursing its way throughout your body. _Fuck._ It's all you can do to not turn around, to not open up that door, to hide yourself away from a reality you don't want. Though, yet again, it's not the time for that—and it's definitely not an option you allow yourself to take.

You take a deep breath as you twist the knob, eyes shut for a moment as you do open the door. The smell of blood wafts to you, hitting you like a fucking semi. You squeeze your eyes; stiffen your body so your shaking isn't so noticeable. A deep inhale and you open your eyes, heart sinking so low your whole body is seemingly encased in glass.

It takes you a moment, but you do it—even with your whole body being numb. Your hand reaches to your pocket and you dial the number, lifting the phone to your ear.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"Y…" _Fuck._ You inhale and try to keep your calm, and you're so vaguely unaware of the tears that glint your eyes. Your other hand comes up to your head, pulling off your hat in order to pull and twist at your hair. "There's—been a… suicide."

The next few weeks are hectic. You wake up, feeling as empty as the apartment you're still living in. You rarely have time to eat between hating yourself and sleep (which is basically your work, now), not to mention the calls you get about That Day, and The Day to Come. Soon, your phone is constantly off and you don't answer the door, the voicemails nor any messages left to Bro Strider.

Only when it's time to put on that black suit do you shower, shave, leave your shades in your pocket and walk out of your apartment. The stares you get are annoying, sickening and no less frightening than they feel. Yet you look head on and drive just the same. When you do reach the funeral home, it's not packed. Not empty. People are there, though you have no idea who they are, what relation they have to Dave. They tell you their sorry for your loss, that Dave was such a fine young man, that the kid had so much to life for, that is wasn't your fault in the least.

And that makes you twitch, makes you ask for them to get the hell out in that dead, hollow voice you managed to form throughout the weeks. You're relieved when they do, yet it only leaves you and that lifeless Dave in the room. You stand there, keeping your eyes averted from the coffin. You can't bring yourself to do it, can't bring yourself to look at the pale face.

But you do.

You walk slowly, taking your time and pacing yourself. Wouldn't want to lose your cool in front of the lil guy; after all, he looks up to you. _Can't let him down._ All too soon you're standing so close to him, your eyes just as lifeless as the kid in general. You take a moment, running your eyes along his face, his body, his clasped hands which are laid just slightly above his navel.

It doesn't take long when your eyes are back to his face, lingering on the shades he wore, even now. You take a moment to appreciate how lively he looks, and a small smile crosses your face until you immediately wipe it off, going back to your expressionless face. Slowly, your reach your gloveless hands, taking off his shades, only to put them in your pocket and trade them for your own shades. You then focus on his hands, cringing at the coldness when you lift them a bit, sliding your shades and leather gloves under them, only to lower them back down.

_You're gonna be cool, lil' man._

Then you're walking out, stopping for a moment to reach in your pocket, twisting your lips a bit at the way Dave's shades look. Hesitantly, you place them on your face, and although it's strange at first, you soon get used to the feeling of shades that aren't even yours.

A few days pass and it's the burial service. You repeat what you did days ago: shower, shave, and this time you put on Dave's shades, almost as if putting on a new skin. Yet still, you're used to the feeling of the shades, and you begin to take it for granted: the reminder that Dave was here, that he's your brother.

Here, you sniff, unsure of where to go. The cemetery, the funeral home? Shit, you've never been to a funeral before, no less attended one. So you walk your way to the cemetery, uncomfortable as can be as you wait; and even though you're sure you should've gone to the funeral home first, you're just as sure they'll get the hint.

And they do. Minutes later do you see a car drive up, see the person glance in your direction. You're sure it's Dave their holding in there, sure that glance was a way of saying it's time. Although you don't want to do this, although you don't want to go through with it, you hoist yourself up. You make your way to the car, watch as they carry Dave out of the back, to the freshly new, six-foot hole they've dug up just for him.

You watch as they lower him carefully, the silence suffocating you of all the breath you've got. A few times you shift from foot to foot, and it's all you can do to not crawl in there with the lil' guy. And all too soon it's time to throw the dirt back in there, time to cover your little brother with soil. You watch, trying not to cringe each and every time you hear the dirt hit the casket. It seemed to go by so fast, seemed to be such a blur. It's over all too soon and moments later you're standing alone, in front of a freshly new sleeping place which is meant for your brother.

_You're gonna be fine, lil' man._

You're sure by now that the dirt is settled enough, and even if it isn't, you're going, anyway. You shower, shave; wear your usual get-up along with your lil bro's shades. You have no expression, and you're sure he'd be proud of your for not sobbing like a little bitch, yet—which is surely what he'd call it. At the thought, a small smile crosses your face, only to be immediately wiped away.

_Keep your cool._

And so you do. You walk at a steady pace; passing by people which you aren't so sure that even saw you yourself pass. Though, you don't care, don't even mind that your shoulder got bumped into several times. All you care about is the grave that states your brother's name—and sure enough, you're already there, feet stopping at the sight of the name. All too fast time goes by.

You stand there for a moment before seating yourself in front of it, lips pursing slightly. You are now unsure of what to do, of what to say, exactly. It isn't like you to be so silent, so hushed up—though, surely it's a different story when Dave's involved.

Here, you open your mouth, hands turning into fists when all that comes out is a cracking, dry sound. _Shit. Fuck. No, no no no—_ Yet it's too late, and the salty, foreign tears are staining your face, making you cover your face with both hands as you hunch over slightly, feeling so damn pathetic you yourself could die right there.

You then let out a deep sigh, throwing your head back and allowing the tears to drop wherever. It's no use, and there's no point in fighting it now that you're alone, right smack in front of the grave that's for your brother. _Fuck. _It's no time at all before your return to your original position, twisting your lips as you lay Dave's shades in your lap.

"…hey, little man," you murmur, a small smile playing your lips as you completely ignore the cracking of your voice. Your hands play with his shades, thumbs lightly going over them, almost as if you're stroking his hair. "…how's it going, up there? Dave?"


End file.
